


all these friends & lovers.

by halowrites



Category: Popslash
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halowrites/pseuds/halowrites





	all these friends & lovers.

"Tell me you're not really going to wear it," Bobbie says, and Ryan can practically hear the eyeroll in her voice. "It's a joke, right?"

"Not a joke." Ryan finishes buttoning the cuffs of the shirt, smoothes down the sleeves, then checks his hair in the mirror of Bobbie's dressing-room one final time. "I'm totally wearing it."

Bobbie's slickly-glossed lips are pursed in an elegant moue of disgust, and the make-up girl hovering close behind her, an array of tiny brushes clutched in her hand, is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "I can't believe I have to sit next to you and talk about fashion when you're wearing _that_."

"Get over it, honey." Ryan purses his own lips to blow her a kiss on his way out of the door. He can't be sure, but he'd bet anything she's waving her middle finger at his back.

  
*

  
"So," Bobbie says later, once the cameras have been wheeled away, the lights switched off, the studio almost-cleared, "are we on for drinks?"

Ryan looks up from his notes for next Monday's show- two actresses who he suspects are sleeping with the same guy, and some kid who can supposedly read minds. He can already feel the headache starting behind his eyes. "So now you _want_ to be seen in public with me in this? Make up your mind, Bobbie."

She laughs, low and sly, and Ryan catches a flash of colour from the corner of his eye. A silky bundle of fabric drapes itself across the screen of his laptop, and for a moment, he's baffled. Until-

"A fucking _shirt_."

"Yeah." Bobbie's frowning at herself in her compact, her nose wrinkled. "You change, I'll buy you one of those fruity girly drinks you like so much. Deal?"

"Whatever," Ryan mutters as she walks off. He lets the shirt fall to the floor in a burst of petulance, but he powers down the laptop. It's not too often Bobbie offers to buy, afterall.

  
*

  
Three drinks down, and Ryan has almost forgiven Bobbie. Almost. The shirt's not all that bad, swirls of blue and silver and Ryan likes the way it feels against his skin. Not that he'll tell her, of course. Three drinks aren't nearly enough to deal with the level of smug and self-satisfied that'd inspire.

"Here." Another glass is placed in front of him, and Ryan supposes maybe he should have gone up to the bar this time. Then again, he doesn't want anything spilled on the shirt.

"I really like the shirt," he says, "it's...silky like a milky way," and then claps a hand over his foolish mouth when Bobbie hoots with some sort of twisted victory-cry.

"I _knew_ it, Seacrest. Maybe there's hope for you, afterall." She lifts a hand to wave at someone over Ryan's shoulder, a brilliant and very fake smile stretched across her lips. "Fuck," she mutters through clenched teeth, "don't come over here, don't come over here, don't-- oh, thank god."

"Ha." Ryan's turn to be smug, because he knows that look only too well. Oh, Bobbie. "Ex number, what-- 34? Ended badly when he revealed a fetish for, hmmm. Small yappy dogs, right?"

"Small yappy blondes actually," Bobbie says. "Considering he was always all bark and no bite, I can't say I was all that surprised." She runs a finger around the rim of her glass. "But enough about me. Let's talk about _your_ failed relationships."

Ryan shakes his head. "Oh no," he says, with a grimace. "No, no, no. We're so not going there."

"Yes, we so are." Bobbie's got that determined look in her eye, and Ryan knows he's lost the argument already. Not that he really minds. His life tends to revolve around who's doing what to who and why, and Bobbie knows it as well as he does. She grins. "One for one. I'll even go first."

"I'm totally taking notes," Ryan says, and really, he's only half-kidding.

  
*

  
"Best kisser," Bobbie muses, tucking her legs underneath her and looking thoughtful. They've moved to a corner booth and onto the good stuff-- who's better, who's best, and Ryan loves this part more than life itself. "Hmm. I'd say that honour would have to go to Adam. He got really into it. I mean, _really_ into it." She licks her lips. "I kinda miss that. You?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, touching his glass to his mouth, cool against the tip of his tongue, hearing it click against his teeth. He likes kissing, too. "I'd have to say, um. Keith."

"Keith, _again_." Bobbie mock-sighs. "He can't be your answer to every question, surely. Best kisser, best legs, best--"

"Ass, for sure." Ryan bites his lip. "His ass, oh _man_."

"You ever miss him?"

Ryan grins. "I miss his ass."

Bobbie laughs, and clinks the rim of her glass with his, not noticing when amber liquid spills over both their fingers. "To Keith's ass. May it be bringing pleasure wherever it might be."

"I'll drink to that," Ryan says, and does. He swallows, and runs his hand across the back of his mouth. He's just drunk enough not to care anymore-- or maybe to care too much. "I got one," he says, finally. "The best of all. The one who got away --from both of us."

Bobbie's strangely still, watching him from across the table, her glass frozen halfway between her lips and the table-top. Ryan stares right back, his belly hot and tight, his skin prickling with something only too familiar.

"Fuck you," she says quietly, and the sound her glass makes as she finally sets it down again is like a gunshot.


End file.
